chiaasen.stormyweather-第4部分

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notice。
　
　They　had　picked　a　house　in　a　flattened　development　called　Turtle　Meadow；　where　the　hurricane　had　peeled　away　all　the　roofs。　Snapper　said　it　was　probably　one　of　Avila's　routes。　He　said　Avila　had　bragged　of　inspecting　eighty　new　homes　a　day　without　leaving　the　truck。　〃Rolling　quotas；〃　is　what　Avila　called　them。　Snapper　allowed　that　Avila　wasn't　much　of　a　roof　inspector；　as　he　was　deathly　afraid　of　heights　and　therefore　refused　to　take　a　ladder　on　his　rounds。　Consequently；　Avila's　roof　certifications　were　done　visually；　from　a　vehicle；　at　speeds　often　exceeding　thirty…five　miles　an　hour。　Snapper　said　Avila's　swiftness　and　trusting　attitude　had　made　him　a　favorite　among　the　local　builders　and　contractors；　especially　at　Christmastime。
　
　Scanning　the　debris；　Edie　Marsh　said　Avila　was　damn　lucky　not　to　be　in　jail。　That's　why　he　quit　when　he　did；　Snapper　explained。　The　bones　told　him　it　was　time。　That；　and　a　grand　jury。
　
　Bones？　said　Edie。
　
　You　don't　want　to　know；　Snapper　said。　Honestly。
　
　They　were　walking　along　the　sidewalk；　across　the　street　from　the　house　they　had　chosen　on　the　drive…by　that　morning。　Now　the　neighborhood　was　pitch　black　except　for　the　erratic　flicker　of　flashlights　and　the　glow　of　a　few　small　bonfires。　Many　families　had　abandoned　the　crumbled　shells　of　their　homes　for　nearby　motels；　but　a　few　men　had　stayed　to　patrol　against　looters。　The　men　wore　pinched　tense　expressions　and　carried　shotguns。　Snapper　was　glad　to　be　white　and　wearing　a　suit。
　
　The　house　he　and　Edie　Marsh　had　chosen　wasn't　empty；　dark　or　quiet。　A　bare　light　bulb　had　been　strung　from　the　skeletal　remains　of　the　roof；　and　the　gray…blue　glow　of　a　television　set　pulsed　against　the　plaster。　These　luxuries　were　explained　by　the　rumble　of　a　portable　generator。　Edie　and　Snapper　had　seen　a　fat　man　gassing　it　up　earlier　in　the　day。
　
　The　street　was　either　Turtle　Meadow　Lane　or　Calusa　Drive；　depending　on　which　of　the　fallen　street　signs　was　accurate。　The　number　〃15600〃　was　sprayed　in　red　paint　on　an　outside　wall　of　the　house；　as　was　the　name　of　the　insurance　pany：　〃Midwest　Casualty。〃
　
　A　big　outfit；　Edie　noted。　She'd　seen　the　mercials　on　television；　the　pany's　symbol　was　a　badger。
　
　〃A　badger？〃　Snapper　frowned。　〃The　fuck　does　a　badger　have　to　do　with　insurance？〃
　
　〃I　dunno。〃　Edie's　mouth　was　dry。　She　felt　sleepy。　〃What　does　a　cougar　have　to　do　with　cars？　It's　just　advertising　is　all。〃
　
　Snapper　said；　〃The　only　thing　I　know　about　badgers　is　they're　stubborn。　And　the　last　goddamn　thing　we　need's　a　stubborn　insurance　pany。〃
　
　Edie　said；　〃For　heaven's　sake…〃
　
　〃Let's　find　another　house。〃
　
　〃No！〃　Weaving　slightly；　she　crossed　the　street　toward　15600。
　
　〃You　hear　me？〃　Snapper　called；　then　started　after　her。
　
　Edie　wheeled　in　the　driveway。　〃Let's　do　it！〃　she　said。　〃Right　now；　while　it's　quiet。〃
　
　Snapper　hesitated；　working　his　jaw　like　a　dazed　boxer。
　
　〃e　on！〃　Edie　tugged　her　hair　out　of　the　bun　and　mussed　it　into　a　nest　in　front　of　her　face。　Then　she　hitched　her　dress　and　raked　her　fingernails　up　both　thighs；　tearing　tracks　in　her　nylons。
　
　Snapper　checked　to　make　sure　none　of　the　neighborhood　vigilantes　were　watching。　Edie　picked　a　place　on　the　driveway　and　stretched　out；　facedown。　Using　two　broken　roof　trusses；　Snapper　did　a　superb　job　setting　the　scene。　Edie　was　pinned。
　
　From　under　the　debris；　she　said；　〃Blood　would　help。〃
　
　Snapper　kicked　a　nail　toward　her　left　hand。　〃Take　it　easy。〃
　
　Edie　Marsh　held　her　breath　and　scratched　the　point　of　the　nail　from　her　elbow　to　her　wrist。　It　hurt　like　a　bitch。　She　wiped　her　arm　across　one　cheek　to　smear　the　blood　for　dramatic　effect。　On　cue；　Snapper　began　shouting　for　help。　Edie　was　impressed；　he　sounded　damn　near　sincere。
　
　Max　Lamb　congratulated　himself　for　stocking　up　on　video　supplies　before　they　drove　down　from　Orlando。　Other　tourists　had　not　e　so　prepared　for　the　hurricane　and　could　be　seen　foraging　through　luggage　in　a　manic　search　for　spare　tapes　and　batteries。　Meanwhile；　pausing　only　to　reload；　Max　Lamb　was　piling　dramatic　footage　of　a　historic　natural　disaster。　Even　if　C…SPAN　wasn't　interested；　his　friends　in　New　York　would　be。　Max　was　a　junior　account　executive　at　a　medium…sized　advertising　firm；　and　there　were　many　persons　whom　he　yearned　to　impress。　Max　was　handy　with　the　Sony；　but　it　wouldn't　hurt　to　seek　professional　assistance；　he　knew　of　a　place　on　East　Fiftieth　Street　that　edited　home　videos　and；　for　a　small　extra　charge；　added　titles　and　credits。　It　would　be　perfect！　Once　Bonnie　settled　down；　Max　Lamb　would　ask　her　about　throwing　a　cocktail　party　where　they　could　screen　the　hurricane　tapes　for　his　clients　and　his　colleagues　at　the　agency。
　
　Max　trotted　with　predatory　energy　from　one　wrecked　homestead　to　another；　the　video　camera　purring　in　his　hand。　He　was　so　absorbed　in　recording　the　tragedy　that　he　forgot　about　his　wife；　who　had　stopped　following　three　blocks　ago。　Max　had　wanted　to　show　Bonnie　how　to　use　the　camera　so　he　could　pose　amid　hurricane　debris；　she'd　told　him　she　would　rather　swallow　a　gallon　of　lye。
　
　For　editing　purposes；　Max　Lamb　kept　a　mental　inventory　of　his　best　shots。　He　had　plenty　of　rubble　scenes；　and　felt　the　need　to　temper　the　visual　shock　with　moments　of　poignancy…vignettes　that　would　capture　the　human　toll；　spiritual　as　well　as　physical。
　
　A　mangled　bicycle　grabbed　Max's　attention。　The　hurricane　had　wrapped　it；　as　snug　as　a　wedding　band；　around　the　trunk　of　a　coconut　palm。　A　boy　no　older　than　eight　was　trying　to　remove　the　bike。　Max　dropped　to　one　knee　and　zoomed　in　on　the　youngster's　face　as　he　tugged　grimly　on　the　bent　handlebars。　The　boy's　expression　was　dull　and　cold；　his　lips　pressed　tight　in　concentration。
　
　Max　thought：　He's　in　shock。　Doesn't　even　know　I'm　here。
　
　The　youngster　didn't　seem　to　care　that　his　bicycle　was　destroyed　beyond　repair。　He　simply　wanted　the　tree　to　give　it　back。　He　pulled　and　pulled　with　all　his　might。　The　empty　eyes　showed　no　sign　of　frustration。
　
　Amazing；　Max　Lamb　thought　as　he　peered　through　the　viewfinder。　Amazing。
　
　Something　jostled　his　right　arm；　and　the　boy's　image　in　the　viewfinder　shook。　A　hand　tugged　at　Max's　sleeve。　Cursing；　he　looked　up　from　the　Handycam。
　
　It　was　a　monkey。
　
　Max　Lamb　pivoted　on　one　heel　and　aimed　the　camera　at　the　scrawny　animal。　Through　the　viewfinder　he　saw　that　the　monkey　had　e　through　the　storm　in　miserable　shape。　Its　auburn　fur　was　matted　and　crusty。　A　bruise　as　plump　as　a　radish　rose　from　the　bridge　of　its　broad　velvet　nose。　The　shoe…button　eyes　were　squinty　and　ringed　with　milky　ooze。
　
　Swaying　on　its　haunches；　the　monkey　bared　its　gums　in　a　woozy　yawn。　Listlessly　it　began　to　paw　at　its　tail。
　
　〃See　what　we　have　here…a　wild　monkey！〃　Max　narrated；　for　the　benefit　of　future　viewers。　〃Just　look　at　this　poor　little　fella。。。。〃
　
　From　behind　him；　a　flat　voice：　〃Better　watch　it；　mister。〃　It　was　the　boy　with　the　broken　bicycle。
　
　Max；　the　Handycam　still　at　his　eye；　said；　〃What's　the　matter；　son？〃
　
　〃Better　watch　out　for　that　thing。　My　dad；　he　had　to　shoot　one　last　night。〃
　
　〃Is　that　right？〃　Max　smiled　to　himself。　Why　would　anyone　shoot　a　monkey？
　
　〃They're　real　sick。　That's　what　my　dad　said。〃
　
　〃Well；　I'll　certainly　be　careful；〃　said　Max　Lamb。　He　heard　footsteps　as　the　strange　boy　ran　off。
　
　Through　the　viewfinder；　Max　noticed　the　monkey's　brow　was　twitching　oddly。　Suddenly　it　was　airborne。　Max　lowered　the　camera　just　as　the　animal　struck　his　face；　knocking　him　backward。　Miniature　rubbery　fingers　dug　at　Max's　nostrils　and　eyes。　He　cried　out　fearfully。　The　monkey's　damp　fur　smelled　awful。
　
　Max　Lamb　began　rolling　in　the　dirt　as　if　he　were　on　fire。　Screeching；　the　wiry　little　creature　let　go。　Max　sat　up；　scrubbing　his　face　with　the　sleeves　of　his　shirt。　The　stinging　told　him　he'd　been　scratched。　For　starters　he　would　require　a　tetanus　booster；　and　then　something　more　potent　to　counteract　the　monkey　germs。
　
　As　he　rose　to　his　feet；　Max　heard　chittering　behind　the　palm　tree。　He　was　poised　to　run；　until　he　spotted　the　monkey　loping　with　an　addled　gait　in　the　opposite　direction。　It　was　dragging　something　by　a　strap。
　
　Max　Lamb　was　enraged。　The　damn　thing　was　stealing　his　Handycam！　Idiotically　he　gave　pursuit。
　
　An　hour　later；　when　Bonnie　Lamb　went　looking　for　her　husband；　he　was　gone。
　
　Two　uniformed　Highway　Patrol　troopers　stood　in　the　rain　at　the　top　of　the　bridge。　One　was　a　tall；　powerfully　built　black　man。　The　other　officer　was　a　woman　of　milky　smooth　plexion　and　medium　height；　with　a　bun　of　reddish…brown　hair。　Together　they　leaned　against　the　concrete　rail　and　stared　down　a　long　length　of　broken　rope；　dangling　in　the　breeze　over　the　choppy　brown　water。
　
　Five　motorists　had　phoned　on　their　cellulars　to　report　that　a　crazy　man　was　tied　to　the　Card　Sound　Bridge。　That　was　only　hours　before　the　hurricane；　when　every　police　officer　within　fifty　miles　had　been　busy　evacuating　the　sane。　Nobody　had　time　for　jumpers；　so　nobody　checked　the　bridge。
　
　The　black　trooper　had　been　sent　to　Miami　all　the　way　from　Liberty　County；　in　northern　Florida；　to　help　clear　traffic　for　the　rescue　convoys。　At　the　man